


Loyalty

by procrastinatingbookworm



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Caretaking, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Lucifer Bingo, Post-Episode: s03e24 A Devil of My Word, mazikeen's wavering loyalty: the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: Lucifer calls Maze for help.For the LuciferBingo prompt "Demon"





	1. Chapter 1

Maze listens to the voicemail three times. Just to be sure. 

_“Hello, Maze. I know we’re not on the best of terms, since you betrayed me to Cain, gaslighted me, and almost murdered my brother. But… there’s not really anyone else I can ask to dig bullets out of my wings. Please come to Lux before I cut these bloody—literally, ha—things off.”_

His voice is stiff with pain, broken apart by watery gasps. She knows he doesn’t lie.

 

*

 

He’s slumped on a barstool when she arrives, sprawled across the bar counter, his wings out and spread the length of the room, his face buried in his crossed arms. If she couldn’t see and hear his shaky breath, she would think he was dead.

“I’m here.”

Lucifer makes a faint, miserable sound.

“You’re pathetic.”

Lucifer doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry for betraying you.”

“No you aren’t.”

That stings, but Maze doesn’t say anything. She just walks to the bathroom and comes back with tweezers, a bowl, and a washcloth.

“This is going to hurt.”

“It already hurts.”

“Well, it’s going to hurt more. Take off your belt. You’re going to want something to bite down on.”

Lucifer pulls off his belt and folds it, slipping it between his teeth.

Steeling herself—she is the most revered torturer in Hell, after all—Mazikeen gets to work.

 

*

 

Most of the bullets are easy enough to get out. ‘Easy’ being a relative term, not accounting for Lucifer’s wings spasming whenever Maze touches them, or the razor-sharp pinions, or Lucifer’s relative inability to control his movements.

Maze presses her knee into Lucifer’s back and manages, prying bullets out of his wings with tweezers and her fingernails. Feathers come loose under her touch, broken and bloodied. The bullets gather in the bowl she brought; more than twenty of them.

It’s probably not a good sign that Lucifer doesn’t scream, just whimpers into the leather clenched between his teeth.

She’s starting to think she’s broken him, until her fingers brush across the joint of his wing, and he screeches like a dying man, the sound barely muffled by the belt.

Maze curses. There’s a bullet buried in the joint of Lucifer’s wing.

“Lucifer,” she says, softening her voice. Lucifer flinches, but Maze doesn’t take it personally. He knows that the gentler she sounds, the worse things are. “I need you to hold still. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Lucifer twitches his wing, then reaches back with one hand and grabs ahold of it, above the damaged joint, wrenching it forward and holding it still.

Maze draws her knife. As carefully as possible, she cuts away the feathers and damaged flesh. Lucifer makes a horrible sound, and she resists the urge to reach out and comfort him. That’s not what either of them need right now. 

She cuts away at his wing, ignoring his whimpering, until she can see the joint. The bullet is still whole, but the bone is not. Maze curses again. She sets the knife down and picks up the tweezers.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

Lucifer screams into the belt, and his wing jerks, but he holds still enough for her to pull the bullet out.

She pauses for a moment, listening to Lucifer’s wet, ragged breathing.

“It’s over now,” Maze says. “I’ve got to clean you up now.”

 

*

 

Lucifer passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow, bandaged wings draped awkwardly, the less damaged left one cramped against the window. The right, splinted to the best of Maze’s ability, is fully extended, the pinions brushing the bookshelves on the far side of the room. 

Maze pours herself a drink.

She isn’t _his_ demon. Her treason has established that, if nothing else.

But torturer or not, traitor or not… she can’t leave him in pain.

“You’re getting soft, Mazie,” she murmurs, sipping from her glass.

 

For some reason, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, are we going to talk about the betrayal and gaslighting now?”

It’s only millennia of training that keep Maze from jumping out of her skin. Her fingers tighten on the neck of the bottle she’s been nursing.

Lucifer sits down across from her. He’s wearing black silk boxers and a matching robe. His hair is damp and curly from the shower, and he’s freshly shaven.

At first glance, there’s no makeup on his face; not even his customary eyeliner. When Maze looks closer, there’s concealer dabbed under his eyes, hiding the dark circles and blotchiness.

She’s known him for long enough to understand. This is his most subtle manipulation, adjusting his appearance to change how he’s viewed. He’s nonthreatening, but not weak or drained, a neutral aspect.

He sits back but doesn’t sprawl, legs crossed at the ankle, his expression blank. Professional, but not domineering. There’s a spot of shaving cream on his jawline. It must be intentional; Lucifer is usually impeccable in his grooming. Any sloppiness is vulnerability, always.

Maze sets the bottle down and leans back as well, mirroring his position. “Sure. Let’s talk.”

“I deserved the betrayal,” he says, surprising her. “I was an unsympathetic friend, and I should have thought about your feelings. During recent events and… previously.”

“Damn right.” Maze nods. She wants him on his knees, licking her boots until they shine, but that can wait. This isn’t about her.

“But if you wanted me to do what you wanted, Maze, you could have asked. I would have given in eventually, or helped you some other way. Torturing me was rather out of line.”

Maze scoffs. “You’ve always made me deal with your issues. I wanted you to deal with them for once.”

“I was terrified.” Lucifer confesses. “I thought I was being robbed of my free will.”

Maze realizes with a stab of guilt that his vulnerable appearance isn’t intentional; he’s rattled, unsure where they stand in terms of loyalty, too distracted by his thoughts to keep up with his usual standard of grooming, but unwilling to appear vulnerable in front of her.

“What do you want, an apology?” Maze snaps, angry more at herself than at him. “Boo hoo, your life sucks, whose fault is that?”

She’s crossed a line and she knows it as soon as she speaks. She knows it before he does, before his blank expression twists into something between hurt and rage.

Something has broken between them, and if they don’t bandage it now, it will never heal.

“I didn’t mean that,” Maze tells him, and watches him compose himself, settling back into the untouchably neutral facade. 

“What did you mean?” Lucifer asks, his voice low.

He’s afraid of her. Maybe she should be delighted, but it just makes her feel sick.

“I mean, Lucifer, that I was angry, so I decided to fuck with you, and I went straight to what I knew would hurt you the most.”

The hurt crawls back into Lucifer’s expression. She watches his shoulders tense. If his wings were out, they’d be folded around him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Maze cuts him off.

“And I’m sorry.”

Lucifer raises one eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have taken my shit out on you, and I really shouldn’t have been so pissed in the first place. I felt ignored and I decided to throw a fit about it instead of trying to fix it.” She huffs, annoyed. “Emotions are hard, okay?”

Lucifer nods slowly, his shoulders relaxing again. “So, you want to stay?”

Maze shrugs. “I think so.”

“You should have all the information, then.” Maze’s stomach drops as Lucifer looks away. “The detective knows. She saw my… my face. After I killed Cain.”

Maze crosses her arms. “And what did she say?”

Lucifer looks sheepish. Maze rolls her eyes.

“You ran, didn’t you?”

He nods, pulling something grey and fluffy out of his bathrobe pocket. “There’s something else?”

“What?”

Lucifer hands her the grey feather. “Amenadiel is gone. He returned to the Silver City. Depending on… how well he is received… he may not return.”

Maze blinks. “Oh.”

“So it’s possible we may be returning to Hell after all,” Lucifer says, in a rush, then presses his lips together, lowering his head.

Maze wants to leave. She can’t deal with Lucifer’s grief. She can’t even deal with her own feelings, coiled up and aching under her sternum.

She stands up. Lucifer doesn’t even look at her. 

Throwing a longing glance toward the elevator, Maze steps around the table, to Lucifer’s side, and rests her hand on his shoulder. He looks up, meeting her gaze with wet eyes.

_ Pathetic, _ Maze wants to say.  _ Coward. _

She says nothing. She can feel the heat of him through his robe.

Slowly, he lifts one hand, resting it over hers.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.


End file.
